


Pay for the devil, a plug to a pedal-I’m your type.

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ballet Dancer Shirabu, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Mild Foot Fetish, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom, Power Dynamics, Riding, Smoking, Smut, Volleyball Dorks in Love, Volleyball Player Ushijima, jesus take the wheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He watches the reflection slowly kneel, flits a lingering eye over Wakatoshi’s bowed head, broad back with sweat sticking his shirt to its expanse, wide shoulders and bared nape. Wakatoshi shifts-his muscles shifts under his shirt.Silently, Kenjirou turns on his toes and extends his right foot. Wakatoshi crawls forward, eyes locking onto his, takes the extended foot-cradles the foot in its silken shoe, and while massaging his ankle, places a kiss there, lips warm.





	Pay for the devil, a plug to a pedal-I’m your type.

Kenjirou stretches forward, running his hands down his thigh to his calf to cradle his ankle. He breathes in and out.

 

The studio is quiet. It's hardly used-far too small for the dance classes that take place on campus. He breathes deeply again as he lets up and plants both feet on the ground, sitting  down criss cross applesauce style and to drag his bag over to him.

 

He brings out his pointe shoes, toe caps, spacers and pads. He pulls the toe caps over his big toes, puts the spacers between the big toe and the next toe, fits the pads over his toes. The door opens-

 

"Occupied." He says to the intruders, unravelling the ribbons of his shoes.

 

"Kenjirou?" He stuffs a shoe with sheeps wool. 

 

“It’s occupied, Wakatoshi." he says, stuffing another shoe, hearing his footsteps and the footsteps of three others following him.

 

Kenjirou slips his foot into one shoe and the other foot into the other. Wakatoshi comes closer and he can hear the others whispering. He recognises the voices of Bokuto, Kuroo and Oikawa. 

 

He wraps the ribbons around his ankle. The silence stretches.

 

“I wanted to see you-”

 

"Arm please, Wakatoshi?" Kenjirou asks, tying off the ribbons. It sounds like an order. Wakatoshi immediately offers his arm. (The bar is just as close.)

 

Kenjirou pulls himself up, holding onto the arm as he makes to relevé. He presses his hand flat on Wakatoshi’s firm chest, sliding up to hold onto his shoulders. Wakatoshi slides his warm hands around Kenjirou’s waist, waiting with bated breath.

 

Kenjirou checks up on his sous-sus.

 

"Are you still angry?" Wakatoshi’s head bows to murmur into his copper hair. Kenjirou hums and goes back on his toes, checks his arabesque in the mirror, hands coming up to needlessly hold Wakatoshi’s shoulders. He hears the three others moving out of the room.

 

Their lips are close now, he can feel Wakatoshi’s minty breath fanning across his cheeks, can see his dark lashes and smouldering gaze. Kenjirou focuses on a spot on the ceiling. Wakatoshi’s fingers are trembling.

 

"What should you do?" Kenjirou does a series of pique turns away from Wakatoshi to the mirror. He watches the reflection slowly kneel, flits a lingering eye over Wakatoshi’s bowed head, broad back with sweat sticking his shirt to its expanse, wide shoulders and bared nape. Wakatoshi shifts-his muscles shifts under his shirt.

 

Silently, Kenjirou turns on his toes and extends his right foot, pausing in a à la quatrième devant, arms falling to his side. Wakatoshi crawls forward, eyes locking onto his, takes the extended foot-cradles it in its silken shoe, and while massaging his ankle, places a kiss there, lips warm. His lips travel upwards, dragging over his calf before he kisses his knee. Green eyes still locked onto golden ones, lingering over pinked cheeks and lips.

 

"You promised." Kenjirou speaks, head titling, hair shifting. His eyes harden, accusatory as his arms fold across his chest. Wakatoshi lowers his head deeply, forehead pressing to the wooden floor as if in prayer but really in apology.

 

Kenjirou drags his foot out of Wakatoshi’s caress and places it on top of his bowed head. He leans forward, applying pressure. Wakatoshi groans lowly, deeply in his throat.

 

"Wakatoshi, do you know how long I waited?"

 

A shake of the head.

 

"Three hours. You left me alone for _three hours_ ." Kenjirou stressed, resting his elbow on his knee and his hand holding up his face. "Do you think that's what a boyfriend is supposed to do?"

 

Another shake of the head, a small whimper.

 

"Abandon his boyfriend to play volleyball longer than he should even though he knew the time? Even though his teammates reminded him? Keep his teammates away from their boyfriends too?" Wakatoshi whispers an apology, leaning forward to kiss at the toes of other foot. Kenjirou can hear him slightly panting.

 

Kenjirou tsks and moves away his foot from Wakatoshi’s head, moving it down to lift his head up in a attitude croisée devant, toe under chin to reveal Wakatoshi’s lips parted, eyes glazed over with lust. Wakatoshi’s hands come up to cup his ankle.

 

He points his toe, feet arching in a textbook example of ideal curve, drags his foot down over the bob of his adam's apple, over his heaving chest-circles around his belly button before dragging down to press against the growing bulge there. He straightens out his foot, stiff arch going pliant to lazily rub-

 

"Please." Wakatoshi breathes. "Kenjirou, _please_ ."

 

Kenjirou removes his foot to dance away; arabesque, fondu, coupé, petit developpé, pas de bourée, pas de chat-the Fred Step, since Wakatoshi is so fond of it. Kenjirou thinks it's too common but can see the beauty in it, and if Wakatoshi likes it so, he has no reason not to perform it if he's being so good, staying still and not following after Kenjirou's steps. He can feel the hungry eyes lingering on his back, the movement of his legs, can feel Wakatoshi's gaze slowly devouring his every step.

 

"I want you home before me. I'll be back at 8 after my shift at work. I want you kneeling." Kenjirou pulls off a successful fouette en dehors before lasping into a petit allegro.

 

"Yes." Wakatoshi says. Kenjirou returns to him, walking this time, back straight and head cocked just so, bends down to look him in the eye-grabs his face to kiss him roughly. Wakatoshi grasps at his waist, his arms and trailing up in a smooth stroke to slender wrists before cupping Kenjirou’s face, moaning lowly as Kenjirou presses forward to sit in his lap.

 

"Take a minute to calm down and I’ll tell the three outside to leave without you. As soon as you've gathered yourself, leave for class." Kenjirou commends, pulling away.

 

The sunlight trails over Wakatoshi’s face, highlighting his handsome face, handsome as always, even when he's this desperate.

  
Wakatoshi nods, lets him get up with slack fingers. Kenjirou pads over to the door and sticks his head out. Sure enough, the three are gathered outside in a gossip circle.

 

_"-so scary quiet. Even Keiji yells, y'know."_

_"Ushiwaka is in **deep** trouble. If I were Shirakun, there would be like, no sex for a week." _  
  
_"As if Iwaizumi ever does something wrong-"_  
  
_"Hey! I’d-"_

 

Kenjirou clears his throat and they jump, startled.

 

"Thanks for trying to get him back on time yesterday." he says smiling, knowing this smile is particularly arresting, judging by the look on Bokuto and Kuroo’s faces.

 

"H-hey Shirabu don't be too mad, he wanted to practise for the match-"

 

"Kuroo." Kuroo’s eyes practically glaze over when Kenjirou turns his full gaze on him, still smiling genially. "Don't worry about it. I'll just tell him off a bit-that's all."

 

The two nod dumbly, Oikawa is smiling in that knowing way. (Of course, he saw them after that match.)

 

Kenjirou bids them goodbye. As he shuts the door, he can hear them mumbling:

 

_"Shirabu is too nice-"_

_"I’m sure Shirakun has his own ways of punishing-"_

_"Gross, Oinkawa-"_

_" **Oinkawa**? Did Iwa-chan teach you that?"_

 

Kenjirou muffles a giggle.

* * *

 

Kenjirou hums as he places the last of the containers in the culture apparatus, turning the machine on. He bids the professor a cheery goodbye as he shrugs on his-Wakatoshi’s-coat. The air is cold and he puffs out dragon breaths in between untangling his earphones and finding his wallet and keys. The moon hangs like a bright yellow yolk in the sky. (There are no stars in Tokyo.)

 

Kenjirou stops at a supermarket, Wakatoshi has run out of milk so he picks up a carton of his favoured brand and a pack of cigarettes. The dragon breath made him feel like smoking tonight.

 

He stops for a moment outside the supermarket, hands cupped around a glowing dancer of a flame, puffing out smoke that mingles with his condensed breath. He adjusts the strap of the plastic bag to fit over his sleeve so it doesn't cut into the pale flesh of his wrist before starting to jog, jingling the keys and access card in his hand.

 

The gate opens when he taps the access card. He stops to open the mailbox before taking the stairs two at a time as he reads mail. It consists of: one bill, Wakatoshi’s salary, a letter from Kenjirou’s brother and yet another person trying to buy their apartment. He huffs and chucks that in the bin by the stairs, tossing his cigarette after it (put out of course) for good measure.

 

He’s trying to juggle everything, the milk, the letters and the sliding strap of his satchel that drags his coat down. Fumbling with his keys and jerking the bag strap back up, he enters the apartment in his flurry, throws his coat, the mail and bag on the couch, shoves the milk in the fridge and runs to their room-stopping in the doorway.

 

Wakatoshi’s eyes are dark and shadowed by his shower fresh hair. Wakatoshi’s chest is bare, peach fuzz glistening with water droplets, hands fisted in his sweatpants. He makes eye contact and then-lowers his head, waiting.

 

Kenjirou smiles.

 

"Good _boy_." he purrs, leaning down to cup a hand around Wakatoshi’s jaw. Wakatoshi nuzzles into it as he strokes his cheek. "Come undress me."

 

Wakatoshi scrambles to his feet, large hands eagerly coming up to pull Kenjirou’s sweater off. Static crackles, stinging Kenjirou’s skin-at his yelp, Wakatoshi kisses the slightly reddened mark.

 

Kenjirou cradles Wakatoshi’s face, pulling him down to kiss him-to lick into his mouth, sliding his tongue against the others. Hands travel downwards, stroking, smoothing over his collarbones to unbutton Kenjirou’s-again, actually Wakatoshi’s-flannel. Kenjirou hums, breaking away to back Wakatoshi against the bed.

 

When his knees hit the edge and he sits down, Kenjirou pushes him flat and crawls over him to straddle his stomach, avoiding Wakatoshi’s lower half.

Wakatoshi moves to pull him in but Kenjirou swats his hands away, placing them on his sides instead.

  
  
"Watch." Kenjirou says, looking Wakatoshi in his eyes. "No helping.”

 

Wakatoshi swallows-Kenjirou follows the line of his throat idly-and nods.

 

Wakatoshi grips his thighs, bruising the pale skin. Kenjirou gasps above him, working his own fingers in himself, moaning out Wakatoshi’s name between groans and whimpers. Fingers twitch over his thighs, coming upwards to hold slim hips, stroking over hip bones, Wakatoshi trembling as he forces himself to stay still, until-

 

“Off. Take- _ah!_ -off!” Wakatoshi somehow drags off his pants without the use of his hands, grunting when he sinks into Kenjirou, Kenjirou falling down to grasp weakly at his shoulders. Wakatoshi licks a trickle of sweat off his shoulder, sucking a mark into the skin.

 

Wakatoshi bucks up, watching the blonde on top of him writhe and squirm. Kenjirou grasps weakly at his bicep, tugging to indicate that Wakatoshi should flip them over. Wakatoshi obliges, pauses for a second to pin Kenjirou’s arms to the headboard, curling his fingers to hold it and covering Kenjirou’s hands with an affectionate palm, breathes and _slams_ in.

 

Kenjirou squeals, gasping as he’s hammered expertly up against the headboard, thanking god out loud as the bed frame thumps the wall. Wakatoshi presses close, mouth closing over his to muffle his cries, Kenjirou’s legs coming up to grip Wakatoshi’s muscled waist.

 

Kenjirou comes, biting Wakatoshi’s shoulder, vision whiting out as he feels Wakatoshi follow soon after.

 

After, when Wakatoshi has cleaned him out and changed the sheets and Kenjirou has buried his face into Wakatoshi’s chest, pressing close to leech heat, Wakatoshi whispers his apologies again.

 

“’s ‘kay.” Kenjirou slurs, Wakatoshi feeling his eyelashes fluttering against his chest. “You’ve said sorry already.”

 

Wakatoshi grips him close, watching the moonlight play on his blonde hair, thanking whatever’s out there and Kenjirou’s parents.

**Author's Note:**

> I have sinned.


End file.
